Morning Bathing Party

Slovenly background,

Slouching dots far at the end of the sands.

Promenade . . . drab sunlit buildings . . .

Pits half filled in . . . sky that erases

Day's first vague adumbrations.

Slovenly sea

Drawing its drab grey crinoline from the shore,

Over reaches of drying pebbles.

But these bright figures,

Moving uneasily against the green

Of the long-boat's sweeping lines,

(Paint scarlet radishes!

Lissom white celery! Frilly parsley-fronds!)

Dazzling with dainty movements of cool life,

Straight legs and tossing curls,

Delicate buttocks,

Bring all such things to the question

And justify this world.

Only... Ihear,

A cockney trombone interlude

Tuned into pitch with the seaside's modern orchestration:

"Wa' would fahver sye ter see me nah?"

O, Desdemona, Desdemona, O!

And with their harsh nark

I find them slovenly too.